“Mama, I have had the most splendid time!” Nicky burst into the room chattering nineteen to the dozen. “We caught lots of fish, and we lit a fire on the beach and cooked them and ate them—with our fingers, Mama! And they were the most delicious fish I have ever eaten in my life. And little shells we dug out of the sand and we boiled them and ate them, too. And we met two other boys that Jim knew and they are splendid fellows and I fell in and got wet, but I am dry now because one of the other boys lived in the oddest little hut near the beach and he lent me some clothes while mine got dry. Oh, Mama, you should have been there!”
By the time he stopped to draw breath Callie was laughing helplessly. “And did you think to save a fish for me, my brave fisherman?”
“Yes, of course, Mama. I promised I would.”
“Of course you did, darling. Thank you.” She looked at the tall man who was lounging in the doorway, watching them with a faint smile.
“Thank you, Mr. Renfrew.” She smiled up at him. “I have not seen Nicky this happy in…oh, forever. It makes everything worthwhile.”
“Even the delay I foisted on you?”
“Yes, even that, though…” She scanned his long, lean body. “I don’t suppose you fell in, too, did you?” she asked hopefully.
He laughed. “Nope.”
“No fingers or toes nipped by a lobster or a crab?”
“Nope.”
She produced a mock sigh. “Oh well, one cannot have everything, I suppose. We must be content with Nicky’s splendid time.” She tried not to smile, but it broke out anyway.
She ran her fingers affectionately though Nicky’s hair. And saw something. She frowned, and peered closer. “What? It’s a, it’s a—”
“A nit. A louse,” said Gabriel, looking over her shoulder. “In fact, several lice. See there’s another one.”
“Lice?” she exclaimed. “My son has lice?”
He seemed to find her horror amusing. “Don’t worry, they don’t eat much.”
She stared at him in speechless indignation.
“You’re not very good with things that wriggle and crawl, are you?” he commented. “Leeches, lice…”
“No, I’m not!” she snapped, annoyed by his amusement. Lice were horrid, dirty things. Her son had never in his life been exposed to such creatures. “Nicky, how did you—” She broke off. It would have happened when he swapped clothes with that other boy. She looked at Gabriel. “How could you let this happen?”
He shrugged indifferently. “Nits won’t kill him. You said yourself he had a splendid day. Besides it might even do him good.”
“Do him good?” She shuddered.
“Nicky will one day be crown prince of Zindaria. Tell me, who will make the better ruler—the man who has no idea of the daily life and hardships of the ordinary folk, or the man who as a boy, rubbed shoulders—or heads—with the sons of the poor?”
She closed her eyes. “All right, I suppose I can see your point.”
“So don’t worry about lice and bangs or scrapes or mud or fleas—”
She opened her eyes. “Fleas?” she said faintly.
His blue eyes twinkled. “Bound to be fleas. Mrs. Barrow is well used to dealing with boys and the livestock they can bring home. She’ll whisk Nicky and Jim into a bath, go over them with a fine-toothed comb and rub her special nit cream into their hair—it’s stinky, but efficacious, I promise you. And she’ll boil their clothes in the copper.”
“How do you know so much about…” She glanced at the lice in her son’s hair and shuddered.
“I’ve had lice before. They’re a constant nuisance in the army—yes, even the officers get ’em. And when I was a boy Harry and I picked up our share of bodily livestock. We ran wild with the local lads, too.”
Callie gave her son a little push. “Go on, Nicky, go and show Mrs. Barrow what else you caught today beside the fish.”
Nicky stood. “I have had leeches and now I have lice!” he exclaimed.
Both Callie and Gabriel laughed at his apparent pride in his achievement.
